


Wake

by azure7539



Series: Azure's 007 Fest 2019 [11]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 007 Fest, 007 Fest 2019, Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Dark, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 04:03:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19985782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azure7539/pseuds/azure7539
Summary: A raid.





	Wake

**Author's Note:**

> For [10kiaoi](https://10kiaoi.tumblr.com/).

By the time they stormed Blofeld’s compound, there was hardly any important evidence left.

But Q didn’t care. His heart was pounding too loudly in his chest to the point where he could barely hear anything else, and _Q didn’t care._

Everything was running in slow motion, and all he could think about was to direct the men to spread out and look for one person and one person alone.

Even the shouting and screaming seemed drowned out in the moment, submerged and punctuated only by the piercing white light of the too bright sun outside, and Q counted each labored breath he took with the gun in his hands feeling leaden like a sinking anchor.

(Swann had thought that she could’ve run away from his eyes, but she had never known Q.

She hadn’t known that he was willing to shed blood to bring one of his own home—no matter the cost.)

“Over here!”

There was a pain seizing around his throat in an instant, a tightening noose, and in retrospect, Q didn’t really remember what he had done next after that; what orders he had given; the exact words that he had said.

The only thing he did remember, with the searing vividness of a scorch mark from a branding iron, had started when he had arrived at the door to the holding cell, having told his men to back off and put away his weapon after receiving the all clear.

Q almost hadn’t recognized the man on the other side of that door.

(And in a way, deep down in the dark and cruel crevices of his mind, he probably had wished that he hadn’t. Just for a fraction of a second.)

In the thick walls of this closed off room that had not even a single window, Bond had been gaunt and ashen, scarcely a shadow of the man he had formerly been, hair cropped down to his scalp and a chilled tint to his cracking lips.

But none of those things would’ve actually mattered if it hadn’t been for the sheer empty look in his eyes that had rendered Q close to being breathless.

No.

Before Q had realized it, before he could’ve thought better of it, he had already crossed the threshold of this hollowed space and stridden inside, never once stopping until he had finally made his way toward Bond.

(He couldn’t tell whether it had been desperate determination or mere disbelief that had seethed a feverish rage in the back of his neck.)

(Again, Q didn’t really care.)

“Bond.”

His voice had come out surprisingly soft and firm, and Q had held his breath when the shade before him had stirred, like rousing from a yawning slumber, and looked up at him.

In that flashing instance, Q had thought that he had seen Bond’s glazed-over blue eyes widen. He had thought he had seen them clearing.

“Bond,” he had repeated, one hand raising to reach out for this man whom he had been chasing after for months.

His hand had found a resting place on Bond’s shoulder, and the quiet warmth he had felt there through that simple touch, the fact that Bond had allowed it at all, had made everything so much more real. Less like a distant dream, and more like a reality within his grasp. And—

“It’s me. It’s—”

And Bond had suddenly jerked away from his reach as though burnt, as though he had woken up from whatever haze he’d just been in and had recognized what he’d just done.

There had been a sliver of actual fear in his eyes, and Q had never before felt a similar frostiness or dread that had crept up along his spine.

_What have they done?_


End file.
